


Hand Print On My Heart

by Ranua



Series: A Touch of Free [2]
Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranua/pseuds/Ranua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They left Richardson, Texas for Picken, Oklahoma, but they left change in their wake. Jensen has a plan for his life. Too bad plans never survive their first engagement with the enemy, especially when that enemy is yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand Print On My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Kane/J2 Big Bang. Art by the fabulous kadams27 and beta by the wonderful nelle816

It's second nature now to Steve, knowing how Christian feels. He tries not to think of it as the uneasy power that lives in him reaching out to his friend, preferring instead to put it down to spending so much time together that he's able to read Christian that well. It's never been his experience before, but he's never had a friend like Christian before either.

So he can feel a tangle of emotions from Christian as they pull up in the yard of a modest two story clapboard house. Worry and trepidation ripple over a low thrum of safety and belonging, the whole mess threaded through with a warm happiness that Steve has never felt before. It must be what coming home feels like he figures.

Two older women, who must be Christian's grandmothers appear on the wrap-around porch before Christian has even cut the engine. In the ensuing quiet the excited whoop of a young girl galloping around the corner of the house is heard. That must be his little sister Jenny.

'Home sweet home,' Christian grins at Steve. 'C'mon, don't wanna make the old ladies wait.'

Steve hangs back as Christian hops out of the van and opens up the side, grabbing their duffel bags and instrument cases. Nerves make him unsure of his welcome in spite of Christian's constant reassurance that he'll be more than welcome at the Kane homestead.

No sooner does Christian have their bags on the ground than he's set upon by the trio. He's swept into hugs by all three females and Steve can feel the surge of happy/sad/belonging that flushes through his friend. It only takes a moment for Christian to regain his composure though, becoming the cock-sure teen he projects to the world.

Stepping back from the hug Christian throws a grin Steve's way motioning him to come closer. 'Steve, c'mon, this is my Grandmére Marie, Me-maw Sarah, and little sister Jenny.' he introduces the women to the blonde, pointing to each in turn. 'Grandmére, Me-maw, this is Steve.'

Three sets of eyes turn his way and he's overwhelmed by their scrutiny. It's been months since he's had to deal with people he doesn't know. Feeling awkward and self-conscious he ducks his head, hiding his face, he'd forgotten all about his scars, but faced with the three most important women in Christian's life he's reminded anew of the lines that criss-cross his face.

A gnarled hand on his chin startles him into raising his eyes and he's met with a gaze as stunning blue as Christian's, yet far more knowing. 'They're the mark of a survivor boy, don't ever be ashamed.'

His tongue is as tangled as his mind and he can only nod in response to the soul piercing gaze. Thankfully the moment is broken by the lilting sing-song of Jenny chanting, 'Chris has a boyfriend. Chris has a boyfriend.'

'Shut-up you . . .' Christian sputters, giving chase across the yard. Jenny's shrieks of laughter cut through the air, not slowing her headlong run at all.

'Well, come on in boy, those two will be at it awhile yet.' 

With a wry look at where Christian has disappeared around the barn, effectively abandoning him, Steve shoulders his bag and violin, following the two older women into the house.

He's not been in a lot of homes, but he's pretty sure this one is unusual. There are bunches of what he assumes are herbs hanging from the ceiling and a table in an alcove inside the front door holds several saints he recognizes from the orphanage along with statues of people and beings he's never seen before.

'Drop your bag there in the parlor child, and come on back to the kitchen. I'm sure you're starving.'

The parlor is just as eclectic as the hall with more trinkets and statues as well as shelves upon shelves of books. Looking around at the eclectic mix he remembers Christian telling him his Grandmére practiced voodoo and thinks that the strange idols and saints must be a part of that.

Following the sound of a slamming door and more of Jenny's shrieking laughter, Steve makes his way to the kitchen. The sight that greets him catches at his heart and he's never felt more like an outsider.

Christian is holding his sister upside down by the ankles and she's giggling and choking with laughter as she beats on his shins. Christian's Grandmére Marie is at the stove doing something to the pots on the top while his Me-maw Sarah calmly shells peas at the table. He's never witnessed a more domestic scene of family love and the aching longing that overcomes him leaves him paralyzed in the doorway.

'Steve!' Christian crows at the sight of him, flipping his sister over and dropping her to her feet. 'There you are!'

'Yes, there he is child,' Grandmére scolds from her spot at the stove. 'Your antics haven't scared him off. Now, get the two of you up to your room to stow your things and wash up for supper.'

'Yes ma'am,' Christian grins, kissing both old women on the cheek and gathering Steve up in a whirlwind of laughter.

'My bag is in the front parlor,' Steve offers.

'I think mine is still by the van.'

They tromp back out to the van so Christian can pick up his duffel and guitar case from where he dropped them at Jenny's taunting. 'It's not that bad is it?' Christian asks out of the blue, voice wavering a little with trepidation.

'What?' The question startles Steve, he'd been lost in his own head, moving along in Christian's wake as though he were on a string. 'What's not that bad?'

'Being here.' Christian replies. 'It's not so horrible is it? You look scared out of your mind.'

'What! No! I'm not scared! Why would you think that?' And he's not scared, a bit overwhelmed maybe, but there's no fear.

'Well, you sure as heck don't look happy to be here.' Christian runs an agitated hand through his hair.

Steve turns a baffled look on Christian, not happy to be here? Of course he's happy to be here. For Christian to like him enough to bring him home to meet his family made him beyond happy. It's a lot to take in is all, he doesn't know how to act around family and he's never been very outgoing anyway. It takes him time to get used to new people, didn't Christian remember that from Richardson?

Then it hits him, Christian hasn't been nervous over whether or not his family will like Steve but rather whether or not Steve will like his family. He drops his defensive posture and smiles a small smile at his friend. 'No, no, I'm fine. Just a little much ya know? All the noise and stuff,' Steve waves a hand, encompassing the house and people. 'Just need a minuet to catch my breath I guess.' He throws a little grin Christian's way trying to reassure the brunette. He couldn't have the other boy worrying about him when he should be enjoying being home.

Christian grins back in relief, frustration gone and forgotten. 'Don't I know it! C'mon, if we're late for dinner Jenny will never let me hear the end of it.'

Back they go across the yard and into the house, stopping to grab Steve's bags from the parlor before they continue up the stairs, Christian explaining as they go. 'Grandmére has the room across from the parlor -she's not so good with stairs, but Me-maw's room is the first one here,' he points to a door at the top of the stairs, 'no way to sneak down the front stairs at night! Jenny's is the next,' he points to a purple and yellow painted door across from the first.

'You sure that pretty door ain't your room?' Steve teases, getting an elbow in the gut for his trouble.

'Shut-up!' Christian laughs, pushing open a crimson door, revealing a room as neat as a pin. 'There's plenty of room for a sleeping bag on the floor, or we can take turns with the bed . . .'

As Christian's babble trails off Steve turns from his inspection of the room to see his friend blushing furiously. At the blondes raised eyebrow the flow of words continues.

'I know Jenny can be annoying, but she'll be at school and Me-maw and Grandmére will be busy so it's not like they'll be around all the time. . . ' he trails off again.

'It's fine, man.' Steve tries to project reassurance with his voice and maybe a little with his power. He doesn't know what's stressing Christian out so badly, but he doesn't like seeing his friend in such distress.

Christian takes a deep breath, regaining some composure, 'Yeah, yeah, yer right, it's fine. It's just been a long day. C'mon, you're gonna love Grandmére's cooking.'

The sense of family and belonging Steve feels all through dinner is both wonderful and unsettling. Christian's grandmothers and sister welcome him into the family readily and the feeling of being a part of something is heady. He was only eight when mamma and poppy died and he hasn't felt that sense of belonging since.

The household is unlike anything he's ever seen, either in real life or on tv and it takes some getting used to. Christian's Grandmére Marie seems to be in charge throughout dinner and her every command is carried out with nary a peep by Christian or Jenny. Me-maw Sarah on the other hand appears to be very easy going, taking no offense at the other woman's tone. Then there's Jenny. Steve doesn't know how little sisters are supposed to act, but she does remind him of the younger, more boisterous kids at the orphanage and he knows how to deal with them. 

It's not just the people though, the house itself is different from any other home he's been in with the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling and the little statues scattered about. He feels out of his depth and keeps a close eye on Christian to make sure he's not making any missteps in his behavior.

When Christian announces with pride part way through dinner that he knew they'd love Steve because he'd seen it in a vision, Steve cringes, waiting for the reprimand. He'd been surprised when all that happened was Grandmére Marie scolding, 'What did I tell you about trusting visions? Never take what you see literally.' and Me-maw Sarah giving them both a knowing smile.

JA

Jensen mopes around the house with what has become something of a permanent frown drawing down his features. His momma sighs and ignores him as he wanders through the house, getting under foot. After the hundredth 'I'm fine' she's given up trying to discover what has him behaving so out of character. She hopes out loud that whatever is eating at him passes as easily as his older brother's teenage angst.

He only frowns deeper at her words, he's sure Jeff never had the sorts of problems he faces. Hell, Jeff is the perfect son and Jensen knows in his heart he is far from that. Otherwise he wouldn't be so out of sorts since those two drifter musicians, Christian and Steve, left town. He hadn't liked the way they'd made him feel guilty when they'd been here and he certainly didn't like the feeling he'd missed out on something since they'd left.

It doesn't help it's his last year of high school and his Daddy's been pressuring him about what his plans for college are. Where he's thinking of going and how does he expect to pay for it if he doesn't get a sports scholarship like his brother. He certainly isn't gonna go to State with Josh and spend weekends at home with the same people he went to high school with. No, college is going to be his big escape and if his daddy thinks money is gonna stop him he's got another think coming.

Jensen hasn't blown every two-bit rough-neck and construction worker in the area only because he likes it. He's saving up every ten and twenty and he is getting the hell away from this town. Hell, getting the hell outta Texas and its backward, bible-thumping, queer-bashing cowboys. Maybe make it to California or New York. Some place fucking enlightened where he can be himself. Where no one knows him as the preachers kid or Josh Ackles little brother.

*&*&*&*

'Mr. Carmichael called me today,' Alan Ackles stated pleasantly over dinner one night a week into the school year. 'He was surprised to see you wouldn't be singing in the choir this year.'

Jensen shifts a little uncomfortably. He did feel kinda bad about leaving the choir. He was supposed to be a section leader this year but it was too much work. 'Yeah,' Jensen mumbles, 'it's not gonna fit this year.'

'But you love singing, honey,' his mother cut in, the warm concern coloring her words would have had him rushing to reassure her that everything was fine just months ago but now he could only shrug as he pushed his food around his plate. 

'Now Donna,' Alan said, 'there's nothing wrong with focusing on his studies. It is his last year after all and it's important he have good marks.'

'You know they look at extra-curricular just as much as grades and if he's not a well-rounded prospect he may not get into his school of choice,' his momma counters.

Jensen keeps his head down and lets his parents words wash around him. Let them argue out his future he thinks, what they think he ought to do doesn't matter to him after all. He has his plan and even though it's all felt a bit harder to pull off lately, he knows what he wants out of life and he's going to get it.

*&*&*&*

The things he used to enjoy, choir and art, no longer hold any allure, and just getting up and getting to school every day feels like battling up Everest. He still goes out to the honky tonk on Friday and Saturday nights, but even that feels empty. It's only the thought that he'll need the money to escape that has him flashing a smirk he barely feels at men he couldn't care less about.

Watching with disinterest one night as a drug deal goes down in the alley he thinks maybe getting high would make it easier, or more fun. He's never done drugs so he really doesn't know what they're like. Oh, he'll knock back beer and down shots all night but he has never even touched marijuana. You can't miss the kids who do though, hanging around out in the school parking lot during lunch and between classes. Jensen has always felt a bit of contempt for them truth be told, wasting their lives, dirty and aimless.

It's not till he's sitting outside the guidance counselors office with one of the hippie kids, waiting to be told he's not applying himself enough if he expects to get the grades that will get him into a good college, that he thinks maybe the hippie kids have the right idea -get the people around you to not expect anything of you and you don't have to do anything for the people around you.

'Dude,' the hippie boy slouched in the chair next to him nudges him with a shoulder, 'you look like you could use this more than me.' 

Jensen gives him a befuddled look, what the hell is he talking about? Then he notices the hand the other boy is holding low between their bodies. To his own surprise he reaches down and takes the joint on offer.

'Marcus Reilly,' the secretary calls.

'That's me,' the hippie stoner grins, jumping to his feet with a flourish.

Jensen finds his voice before the other boy has gone more than a couple steps, 'thanks man.'

Shooting a grin over his shoulder on his way through the door Marcus replies, 'anytime.'

At dinner that night Jensen is on tenser-hooks waiting for his step-daddy to bring up him being pulled into the counselor's office this afternoon. He's dead sure that there was a call home, so he's not sure what to think when dinner passes quietly with only the usual small talk about everyone's day. 

'Jensen honey, why don't you help me clean up in the kitchen. Mackenzie could use the break.'

He's surprised by his momma's command, but gamely clears the table, carrying the dishes to the kitchen in her wake.

They don't exchange many words and Jensen finds it soothing, standing next to his momma at the sink, quietly drying the dishes and stacking them away. It's not till they're half-way through and his momma pauses in her work, taking a deep breath, before resuming scrubbing the pans that he thinks there might be something going on.

'There was a phone call from the school this afternoon.'

His stomach drops at her words. She sounds so sad and confused he immediately feels guilty. 'Momma . . .,' he says quietly, not sure what else to say.

'You've been so distant and sad lately, Jenny baby. I don't know what to do. I don't know what happened to my smiling little boy who sang all the time and was always so happy.' She doesn't look up from the sink as she speaks. 'Lord knows I know little boys grow up, look at Josh, but I don't know when you changed from my happy boy to this sullen young man.'

'Momma, I . . .' he tries again.

'No,' she shakes her head, 'I don't need you to make excuses or tell me stories. I just worry and I want you to know that. I won't tell your daddy that your grades are slipping, but you need to do something about it because next time he might be home to take that call.' 

'Yes ma'am,' he whispers, guilt at the sadness in his mommas voice eating at him.

Pulling the last pot from the sink she hands it over to be rinsed and dried, lifting Jensen's chin to make eye contact. 'I love you dearly no matter if you're my happy little boy or this new angry young man, never forget that.' Gently she kisses him on the forehead, 'Now, finish up in here and do your homework.'

He can only nod around the tightness in his chest and do as she tells him.

Later, after he's sure he's heard the last noises from his parents and sister he slips out his window to the roof. He doesn't have a lighter so he's scrounged a couple of kitchen matches and fumbles the first trying to light the joint. He feels stupid and angry and useless and with a sharp snap he gets the second match lit and inhales hard on the thin joint, coughing and wheezing, but he gets it lit.

It only takes a couple of drags to get the hang of inhaling and holding. He is, after all, a skilled cocksucker, a damn joint shouldn't be that hard. He starts to feel tingling and light as soon as he figures out how to not choke on the smoke. 

The high is great, a floaty feeling suffuses his mind and body. The world gets mellower and his problems don't seem to matter so much. The stars are bright, the breeze is cool and all the world is beautiful. It convinces him that maybe those stoner and hippie kids really do have the right idea.

The best part though comes in the morning, when there's none of the hangover he would of had if he'd drank enough beer to achieve that floaty feeling.

Back at school the daily grind of the same old small town, small mind bullshit gets to him, it never lets up, day after day. He wishes he could go out and get drunk more often because God knows he doesn't want to be in his own head anymore. He thinks about the joint Marcus gave him nearly constantly; it was portable and he didn't have to worry about getting caught sneaking in or out after curfew, smoking weed was starting to look like the perfect option.

It only takes a couple of questions to find out when Marcus's particular group of stoners and hippies will be out on the quad. As he approaches the group it's painfully obvious he doesn't fit in with the crowd slouched around the picnic tables. From his tidy haircut to his preppy clothes he's the antithesis of everything these hippies and stoners are.

He gets suspicious looks and one of the girls, -he thinks it's a girl, it's hard to tell around the long hair and shapeless baggy clothes- catcalls him. 'Look out, it's the pretty boy preacher's son! Sure it's okay with your daddy for you to be out here? Better be careful or you'll get a reputation!' all the others snicker and laugh at the comments. 

It's one thing to have the strut and attitude at the honky tonk, but these kids have known him all his life. Pegged him and categorized him and found him lacking years ago. Hunching in on himself, he pulls his dignity around him like armor and ignores their jibes. He spies the kid from the counselor's office and heads his way, dodging around a foot stuck out to trip him and weaving with the shove to the left he gets from one of the big guys.

'Hey, uh, Marcus,' he hates himself for his stutter. 'You, uh, got any more of that stuff you gave me the, uh, other day?' 

Marcus runs a shrewd eye over him and Jensen feels like Marcus is looking right through him. 'Liked that did ya?' Marcus drawls with a grin.

Rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort Jensen nods. 'Yeah, I did. Uh, I'd really like to try it again?' he's annoyed with himself that it comes out sounding like a question. He can deal with the biggest, nastiest rough necks at the honky tonk, but he can't talk to a hippie.

'Sure,' Marcus answers, 'but it'll cost ya man. Gotta buy it myself ya know, replace what I gave you.'

'Oh yeah,' Jensen fumbles with his wallet, hating himself a little more. He knows how this works, he's seen enough drug deals go down in back alleys. He doesn't know why he would of thought this was any different. 'Can, uh, I get ah, three joints?'

'Yeah, man, no sweat. Ten bucks.' Marcus grins that shrewd grin again. 'New customer and all I can cut you a deal this time.'

Jensen flushes hearing those words. He's said nearly the same thing to guys in the back alley. 'Th-th-thanks,' he stutters harder.

A couple of the kids laugh at his stutter and deepening blush and it makes him flush harder. Straightening he grabs tight to the attitude that he only inhabits Saturday nights. Clearing his throat he tries again. 'Thanks man. I'll see ya.'

The second time getting high is just as good as the first. He floats out in a haze of not giving a damn. It's easy to ignore how much he's come to hate his life when he's high. He's not trapped or feeling smothered when he's high.

'Jensen,' his mother's voice stops him on his way out the door the next morning, 'I didn't want to say anything where your daddy might hear, but you're not smoking cigarettes are you?'

Her soft concern undoes him and he can't lie to her. He wishes he were still her happy boy. 'No Momma, I'm not smoking cigarettes.'

'I thought I smelled burning from your room last night. You know how your daddy feels about smoking.'

'I know Momma, it was just a chemistry assignment got a little out of hand. I'm sorry.'

'Well,' she smiles and he knows she's happy to think he's doing his school work, 'be more careful and use the kitchen for those questionable assignments.'

'Yes ma'am' He kisses her cheek and makes his escape. He loves his momma something fierce but she doesn't even pretend to understand him anymore.

SCK

'It's not fair!' Jenny wails. 'I don't want to go!'

Grandmére waves her wooden spoon Jenny's direction, 'Mind your tone young lady.'

'It's not up for debate child,' Me-maw adds from her spot at the other end of the kitchen, 'you will go to school.'

'But Christian and Steve aren't going,' the young girl pouts.

'I don't' suppose there's much school could teach either of those boys.' Me-maw chuckles.

The two boys in question wince in unison, keeping their heads ducked to their plates, the last thing either wants is to get in the middle of an argument between the women of the house.

'You on the other hand young lady,' Grandmére continues, 'have a reputation to uphold. No daughter of this family is going to be uneducated.'

'But momma don't . . .'

'Your mother may be off following your daddy form hither to yon, but she went to finishing school all the same.'

'And don't you be thinking they'll be lazing around. There's more than enough work for the two of them around the farm.' 

Christian quietly moans at his Me-maw's pronouncement, causing Steve to shoot him a concerned look. Christian shakes his head and mouths 'later'.

'Yes ma'am,' Jenny sighs.

'You can start on the barn right after breakfast then if you're so set on moaning about it Christian. This ain't no vacation home and you know it.'

'Yes ma'am,' Christian's sigh in an unconscious imitation of his sister causes Steve to smile at his plate.

It doesn't take long to finish breakfast and clean up. With Jenny headed off to catch her bus, Christian leads Steve out to the barn. Steve's never dealt with any kind of farm animal before and tells Christian so on their way across the yard.

'It's not hard or anything, really,' the brunette tells him. 'Just treat 'em gentle but firm and don't be scared. Animals really can tell when you're nervous around 'em and it makes them nervous and fidgety and hard to handle.'

'I suppose that don't sound too hard.' Steve's still not very sure about it, though Christian makes it sound easy.

'There's only the two milk cows -Me-maw likely milked them this morning- and we have three horses so that's only three stalls and one large box to muck out and we can turn the animals out in the paddock while we do it.'

Steve just nods along with Christian's instructions, he's not familiar with half the terms the other boy is using but trusts Christian won't let him do anything too foolish.

The barn is dim and quiet in the early morning air. Christian pushes open the large doors on the back of the barn, flooding the interior with the golden light of sunrise. The heads of three horses bob over half doors along one side of the wide center aisle as they wicker and snuffle at the intrusion.

'Hey there babies,' Christian croons, scratching behind ears and letting them nuzzle and shove at him one after the other as he moves down the row, greeting each horse with softly murmured words. Steve marvels at the other boy's behavior. Clearly animals, horses at least, are very dear to his friend.

A sudden, loud bellow from one of the cows on the other side of the barn nearly sends Steve out of his skin. He had no idea cows could make a noise like that. It was a far cry from the gentle moo portrayed in children's books!

'Your face!' Christian laughs. 'You screamed like a girl!'

'I did not!' He can feel the heat of embarrassment spread across his face and his heart is beating like he'd run a mile, but he's sure he didn't scream. Especially not like a girl.

'You did buddy, I heard you. Hell, I'd bet Me-maw and Grandmére heard you.' The grin on Christian's face is so wide Steve's surprised he can talk around it, the jerk.

'Shut up,' Steve mutters. 

Christian only laughs more.

'Show me what we're supposed to be doing,' the blonde grumbles at his friend.

It turns out Christian is right, and mucking out stalls is easy, if heavy, work. They lead the three horses one at a time out to fenced enclosure by the barn, the paddock Steve assumes. The blonde even manages clipping the lead on the last horse's halter himself and walks the calm bay out on his own, Christian smiling at him from the side.

The two cows shoulder out the side door of their box even before Christian has it opened all the way making a beeline for the bottom of the pasture. 'Aren't they going to get lost?' Steve asks. The horses are in a smaller enclosure nearer the barn, but the pasture the cows are in is a large fenced area dotted with trees.

'Nah,' Christian replies, 'they'll wander back later when they're wanting to be milked.'

Two of them they make short work of mucking out the stalls and are just finishing replacing the bedding when Me-maw Sarah appears in the center aisle. 'Very nicely done boys. When you finish up in here I need you both in the garden to help me carry in the last of the tomatoes.'

'Not weeding,' Christian groans in despair.

Giving a light smack to the back of his head Me-maw Sarah grins. 'Now, who said anything about weeding? I need some strong backs to carry bushel baskets.'

'I don't know, after all this we might be too tired to carry a thing,' Christian grins back at his Me-maw Sarah. The easy back and forth makes Steve smile. If this is the way his friend grew up, with easy, happy banter, it's no wonder the other boy was so quick to befriend him.

With good natured moaning and groaning Christian and Steve carry in the bushel baskets of tomatoes. On their last trip out of the cellar they're met by Grandmére Marie at the top of the steps. 'Since you'll be driving that eyesore of a van all over creation you'd best head into town and stop at the feed store to pick up our regular order along with a salt block and twine and tell Mr. Oldstrom we'll be wanting to cut hay next week.'

Thrilled with the thought of freedom, Christian barely waits for Grandmére Marie to hand over the money before he's out the door Steve in tow. 'C'mon, let's get out of here before they find something else we need to do.'

Steve can only laugh quietly at his friend's over-reaction. He can tell Christian is pleased to be home, chores and all.

They don't talk on the drive to town, Johnny Cash's Silver is turned up loud enough to drown out any conversation if they'd try. They both belt out the words to Cocaine Blues at the top of their lungs laughing and cackling all the way.

The drive into town takes most of the album. Picken is hardly more than a dot on the map Steve is sure. They drive past a scattering of houses before they reach what must be the town proper. He can see from one end of the main street to the other, two rows of businesses facing each other across the widened street bracketed at either end by church steeples.

The feed store is at the other end of town and as they drive down main street he picks out the post office and barber shop easily enough and what must be a grocery store, bar and bank, but there are several shop fronts that aren't as obvious and he can't tell what they may be.

At the feed store Christian's second hand hippie van sticks out like a sore thumb in the dirt lot full of dusty old pick-up trucks.

'Is Mr. Oldstrom going to do the haying for your grandmothers?' Steve asks.

'Naw,' Christian answers, 'Mr. Oldstrom keeps track of the hayer. I gotta find out if it's free next week and arrange to get it out to the farm.'

'So, you have to rent the hayer?'

Naw, farm equipment is expensive is all, so a bunch of farms will go in together to buy and maintain a piece and then share it around on a schedule. Saves lots of money.'

Steve nods understanding, the arrangement makes plenty of sense to him.

Nervous of the new place and people, he stays behind Christian as they enter the feed store. It's like a scene right out of a movie inside, there's a couple of old, weather-worn farmers playing checkers in the corner and several more leaning against the counter, coffee cups in hand, listening to the man behind it tell some story using big gestures and waving arms.

'Well, I'll be, Christian Kane,' drawls one of the checker players in the corner. 'Thought for sure you were shut of this town for good when you took off this spring.'

'No sir, Mr. Wright. Just wanted to take a look at the country.' Christian replies, deference and respect thick in his voice.

'Humph, pegged you for taking after your daddy and momma boy. Off gallivanting around the country like some worthless gypsy, leaving your family behind to fend for themselves.' the old man's voice is snide and mean.

Steve can see Christian clenching his fists, but his friend's voice is still respectful as he talks to the old farmer. 'No sir, I wouldn't do that.'

'Christian,' calls the man behind the counter, breaking the tension that's beginning to crackle between the brunette and the old farmer, 'what brings you into town today?' Deprived of a show, the other occupants of the store go back to their own business.

Christian turns toward the counter, tense shoulders and balled fists relaxing, 'Me-maw sent me up to pick-up her regular order plus a salt block and some baling twine and to arrange for the hayer to come out next week if it's free.'

'Sure, sure,' the man replies. 'No one else is bringing in any hay right now so the hayer is free. Just come get the keys when you're ready.' As the man speaks, Mr. Oldstrom Steve assumes since that's who Me-maw had sent them to talk with, he puts together a box with what looks to Steve like a large whitish rock and a large ball of twine.

Christian fills out some paper work and hands over the money for the order, grabbing the box under one arm. 'Thanks lots Mr. Oldstrom, I'll be in next Monday to pick up the keys. It should only take a day or two to cut the fields.'

'Sure, sure,' Mr. Oldstrom nods with a smile, 'give your grandmothers my regards.'

'Yes, sir,' Christian returns the mans nod and smile as he and Steve leave.

Barely clear of the door, Christian angrily spits on the ground. 'Lousy bastard,' he growls.

Steve turns to him shocked. The anger in Christian's voice takes him by surprise, he'd had no idea his friend was that upset in the feed store.

'That damn Angus Wright,' Christian explains, angrily shoving the box of supplies into the van, 'always bad mouthing momma and daddy and implying we're no good cos they're off working the oil fields.'

The brunette stomps off a couple of steps before giving a full body shake and turning to Steve with a smile. 'Forget that asshole, c'mon, I wanna show you the music store. Introduce you to Grandfather.'

'Grandfather?' Steve asks, this is the first he's heard of a grandfather.

'He's not really my grandfather,' Christian answers as they walk down the main street. 'That's just what Jenny and me have always called him. Though I think he is related to Me-maw somehow,' Christian shrugs. 'Everybody's related to each other one way or another in a town this small. Even if you're not blood, you call your elders Aunt and Uncle or Grandmother and Grandfather.'

Steve boggles at the explanation. He can't imagine being related to an entire town. The only family he'd had were his parents, certainly no tangled extended family like Christian was describing.

The tinkle of a bell announces them as they push open a shop door and a soft voice calls out, 'Welcome to Gladstones, I'll be right there!'

'No rush Mary Jane,' Christian calls in return.

'Christian Kane! You came back!' A short plump blonde bustles from around a curtain behind the counter at the back of the shop. 'Look at you boy! You've grown. And not just your hair! Grandfather will be pleased.'

She hugs him and pets him, holding him at arm's length to scrutinize him head to toe before drawing him in for another tight hug.

Steve watches with amusement as Christian lets the smaller woman manhandle him with a smile and a laugh. 'You're carrying on like an old Auntie, Mary Jane. I told you I'd be back.'

'Oh, you,' she smacks his shoulder, stepping back from her fluttering. 'So then Trouble, who's your friend?'

Flashing Steve a grin he pulls the blond forward. 'This here is Steve Carlson, best damn fiddle player I've ever heard.'

Steve can feel the blush light his ears on fire as he ducks his head. 'Christian,' he hisses in embarrassment.

'Well, it's true,' is the stubborn brunettes reply.

Mary Jane ignores the by-play and Steve's discomfort, holding out her hand to shake with a 'Pleasure to meet you Steve, I hope I get to hear you play.'

Steve returns the handshake, swallowing his shyness and discomfort. 'Pleased to meet you as well ma'am'

'Where's Grandfather?' Christian asks.

'He said there was too much to get done around the house this morning. Told me I'd have to open the shop myself today.' Mary Jane laughs again, 'If you ask me, the too much to get done is down by the fishing hole.'

Christian laughs along with her and Steve smiles his small smile. 'I really did want him to meet Steve.'

'If you go out to the house this afternoon, I'm sure he'll be around,' Mary Jane offers.

'Guess that's what we'll do then. Hopefully Me-maw won't have more chores lined up by the time we get home.' Christian sighs and Mary Jane laughs at his crestfallen face.

'Oh, you poor things,' she pats them both on the shoulder. 'Now, what kind of strings do you use Steve? I already know Christian's preferred brand.'

'Ah, Obbligato, ma'am,' 

She bustles around collecting packages of strings and a sheaf of sheet music. 'Here's the piano pieces Jenny needs to practice, she forgot them after her last lesson, totally on accident I'm sure, and new strings for you boys.'

She presses the package into Christian's hands, 'No, no,' she waves away his attempt to pay. 'Your money is no good today. Take it as a welcome home gift.' She presses a quick kiss to Christian's cheek and surprises Steve by including him in the gesture causing his face to flame in a new blush.

'Now, you boys best be getting home if you want to finish whatever new horrors Me-maw Sarah has worked up for you.'

With a laugh and promises they'll be back with their instruments, they leave the store.

Of course, when they get back, there is work in the garden waiting for them and Christian moans that it's like being back at Father Morgan's and if he wanted to spend his days pulling weeds and walking beans he'd have stayed in Arizona.

'You'd think weeding was invented just to torment you the way you carry on boy.'

Steve smiles at the by-play between Christian and his Me-maw It carries them through several more chores and it's with relief Steve sits down to a late lunch. He can't remember ever having worked so hard. Just thinking of the number of little repairs and heavy lifting he and Christian had spent the mid-day doing around the farm made him ache.

Catching the look on Steve's face Christian reassures his friend, 'It's not always like this. Me-maw and Grandmére can't do everything and it adds up. You should see when Daddy and Momma come home,' Christian grins, 'they're set to work like you wouldn't believe.

It's late afternoon by the time they've done enough work Me-maw lets them leave. They walk in the warmth of the Indian Summer sun. Grandfather's house isn't too far by foot if they cut through the woods, and Christian tells Steve he misses the woods. 'There's nothing like the peace and quiet,' he tells his friend.

'I spent a lot of time in these woods,' Christian says as they traipse through the autumn afternoon. 'Sometimes there are just too damn many women in that house!'

Steve can't help but laugh at the depth of feeling Christian puts into the words. He's felt it himself over the last couple of days. At the orphanage he'd shared a dorm with all boys and only saw the girls at classes and meals. After he'd run away there'd been Maryanne, but they'd fallen in with the orchard workers pretty quick and it had been segregated by sex in their camp too. So he can totally empathize with his friend's complaint of too many women.

The trip through the woods is a new experience for Steve. The closest he's ever come to nature like this is when he and Maryanne picked in the orchards, and that was nothing like the wildness amongst the trees here in rural Oklahoma.

'Have you ever gotten lost out here?' he can't help the little tremor of fear in his voice. The thought of never finding his way back to Christian's house is very scary. He's seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre thank you very much.

'Naw,' Christian says. 'Me-maw's been dragging me along to collect plants with her since I could walk. I grew up out here.'

And Steve notices that Christian does have an assurance about him; the brunette knows exactly where he's going and how to get there.

Their conversation trails off leaving just the sound of leaves and twigs crunching under their feet and the wind in the trees. A sense of peace descends and Steve feels what he can only think of as his brain relaxing. The feeling reminds him of those weeks when it was just the two of them on the road.

The rest of the walk is made in silence, both boys lost in their own heads.

It's not long till they break from a thicket behind a tidy looking house with a huge garden to one side and a chicken coop to the other, a large dog sprawled in the shade between them and the house.

'Dee-ohh-gee!' Christian calls out happily as they walk up. The dog shakes itself upright with a woof and trots over to them at the sound of Christian's voice. Steve steps back, alarmed to see he had totally underestimated the size of the dog; its head easily comes up to his hip.

Christian laughs as the huge animal butts him in the stomach, 'Aren't you a vicious guard dog,' he smiles, scratching behind its ears and rubbing the big dog's head. Looking over at Steve he sees the trepidation on his friend's face and the way he's backed up a few steps. 'Hey, it's alright, Dee-ohh-gee is totally harmless. Isn't that right you big scary dog you?'

'Lazy dog you mean,' an older man calls from the back porch. 'C'mon boy, don't just stand out there petting my dog, come pay your respects to an old man.'

'Grandfather,' warmth and love color Christian's voice as he trots up the porch steps, Steve and the dog following on his heels.

The two share a tight hug and Christian hadn't realized how much he'd missed the old man until this very instant. 'I missed you Grandfather,' he whispers into the man's neck, holding tighter for a moment.

'Ahh, Christian . . .,' the old man hugs tightly in return before loosening his grip, holding the young man out at arm's length. 'Let me look at you boy. It don't look as though the outside world has been too harsh on you.' He claps Christian on the back with a grin.

'Now then, who's this?' he asks, turning toward Steve who's lingering at the bottom of the steps, unwilling to intrude on the obviously private moment.

Christian reaches out to him, pulling the blonde to his side. 'This is Steve, Grandfather,' pride and happiness are evident in his voice and Steve relaxes under the wash of emotion.

'Steve, eh,' the old man looks him over with a shrewd eye and Steve feels uncomfortably examined. 'Well, then, you boys come on inside and thrill an old man with your tales of adventure. Heard you been up to the feed store. Them busy-bodies give you trouble? I swear, they gossip worsen a gaggle of old women.'

'Same as always,' Christian grimaces.

'Now boy, don't you be taking them old sticks seriously. They're stuck in the last century and not even in the fun bits,' the old man laughs.

They settle into a warmly lit kitchen with icy cold bottles of Coke and Christian regales them both with their adventures. Even Steve, who was there, finds Christian's storytelling amusing if not wholly accurate and laughingly interrupts when Christian's descriptions start to defy description. The afternoon turns to evening in easy, comfortable companionship.

It's full dark by the time they get ready to leave and Grandfather insists that he drive them back to the farm. As the teens head out to get the older man's truck out of its shed, Grandfather pulls Steve aside shooing Christian out the door at his questioning look, 'Just need a word, boy, no cause to worry.

'You're leaking emotion all over the place son,' Grandfather gives Steve a stern look.

Not knowing what the old man means Steve can only look at him blankly. Grandfather returns the look with a searching gaze that Steve is sure lays him bare. 'You have no idea do you? Lands sake son! Who the hell let you walk around like this?'

'No one lets me do anything,' Steve can't help the annoyance in his voice. Does everyone know that he's not normal and have some sort of opinion on it? 

'Prime target for any two bit soul sucker,' the old man grumbles, 'and you've gone and imprinted on Christian.'

At the mention of his friends name his annoyance disappears replaced with apprehension, 'What about Christian? What do you mean imprinted? Am I hurting him?'

'No, no, boy,' Grandfather reassures him, 'you're not hurting him. You've just attached yourself too him. It's not a bad thing boy, just maybe could be awkward.'

Steve snorts at that, awkward is one word to describe the feelings he has for his friend. He can't help but wonder, if the power that lives inside of him has reached out and attached itself to Christian, what else has it done without his knowledge? The thought gives him a chill down his back and his sudden fear must show on his face because Grandfather steps in closer, laying his hands on Steve's shoulders, anchoring him in place.

'It's nothing to be scared of son,' the old man says kindly. 'Just looks like you put your center on him instead of in you.'

Steve sort of knows what the old man is talking about. The old musicians he'd played with and learned from at the gypsy camp last winter had talked about centering yourself to be able to play from a place of stillness. He'd tried to do as they'd taught him but it had been difficult, that is until he'd met Christian. When he'd played for his friend out there in the dark on Route 66 he'd felt a snap of connection and he'd reached the place of stillness the old gypsies had talked about.

'Is that bad?' he asks. The last thing he wants to do is cause problems for Christian.

'I don't think so,' the old man replies slowly, gaze still searching Steve like he can see inside the young man to the connection he's talking about. 'You need to protect it though, that I do know boy. Now, close your eyes and look inside.'

Steve feels a bit silly, but he does what the old man says, not sure what he's supposed to be looking for or even how to do as Grandfather asks. The only thing he feels in his head is the place where the strange thing lives. He's never paid it much attention except to keep it pushed down, but now, with Grandfather's hands on his shoulders holding him down, he doesn't feel quite as scared of it. There, around the edge, he's surprised to find it feels like Christian.

He hears Grandfather chuckle at his involuntary gasp. 'That would be it then. Now, imagine it hidden, covered with leaves and trees and dirt so not a soul can see it.'

With a frown of concentration he does as he's told, imagining a veritable forest in his mind, from the giant redwoods of Northern California that always remind him of his parents to the flat scrub of Texas to the mixed tress and underbrush here around Christian's home.

'Amazing,' he hears Grandfather say. 'If I didn't know better I'd think there wasn't a thing in your head boy. You have certainly got the touch.'

Steve feels drained and it's difficult to open his eyes, he's sure he could sleep a month right now if given the chance. 'It's safe, Christian is safe?' he asks.

'He's safe, son, you done good there, but you're still leaking emotion all over the place.'

Steve shakes his head, he still doesn't understand what Grandfather means by that.

'You're broadcasting your feelings all over the place boy. Any nasty little thing with a touch of sensitivity is gonna feel you and come looking and that is not good.'

'How do I make it stop?' Steve asks. Grandfather's tone is dire and Steve has no desire to find out what kind of things are out there. Christian has told him stories passed down to him from his grandmothers and Steve would rather it all stays stories.

'You can't make it stop boy, it's a part of you. All you can do is learn how to let it out on your terms.'

Grandfather's words pull forward the memory of the old gypsy woman asking him not to play such mournful music as it made the sensitive children cry in their sleep and he realizes he knows how to broadcast on his own terms. 'I-I think I can do that,' he mumbles looking to the floor. Exhaustion weighs him down and his thoughts spin with the implications of the things Grandfather has said.

JA

Tuesday afternoon finds Jensen ensconced in his usual Saturday night corner. School Monday morning had been filled with whispers that somebody in the Archer family had died horrible over the weekend. During homeroom the principal called an assembly and announced that Joseph Archer had died over the weekend. Having the whispers confirmed seemed to loose a flood of chatter amongst the students and it wasn't long before the rumors were saying Joe had killed himself.

Jensen knew Joe; hell, everybody knew Joe, it was that kind of small town. But Jensen and Joe had been thrust together by the alphabet since kindergarten and Jensen had maybe considered the other boy one of his best friends. Even with different interests and social groups in high school they still managed to hang out every now and again.

Joe was what parents would call a good kid, respectful to his elders, good grades, an actual boy scout, football team, active in his church youth group, an all around good guy. He killed himself though, slit his wrists to the bone Jensen had heard and he'd never known his friend was that upset.

By late afternoon the rumors had gotten nasty. Rumors that said other members of the football team had caught him checking them out. That maybe he'd been doing more than checking them out, that maybe he'd offered to suck someones -no one named names- dick. That maybe he'd been sucking coach's dick too, in order to stay on the team.

The worst though, was what he'd heard this morning. He'd been at his locker near Amanda Crockett, Sheriff Crockett's daughter, when he'd heard her tell the little group of girls around her that she'd heard from her daddy that the suicide note Joe left said he was queer and he knew it was a sin and he didn't know what God was punishing him for but he was sorry. 'It's so horrible' she'd whispered, 'he could have gotten help. There's church groups and therapy, my daddy says. He didn't have to be a queer and he didn't have to kill himself.'

A sudden roar of white noise had blanketed his mind at her overheard words and Jensen missed the rest of what she said. His mind sticking in a loop of denial, there's no way Joe was a queer, Jensen would have known, wouldn't he? She was the sheriff's daughter after all though and if there was someone at school who was gonna know what the note said, it'd be her.

Woodenly he made his way to his first hour class, sitting blankly in the back he didn't hear a word the teacher said. As the roaring faded, a feeling of numb despair settled over him. If Joe, a kid who had everything going for him, who surely was gonna make it out of this shit-hole town, killed himself, what chance did Jensen have?

The bell signaling the end of class had startled him out of his daze and wandering to his locker he stowed his books. Standing in the busy hallway he realized there was no way he could sit through another class hearing the whispers and speculations over whether or not there were any other fags in school and maybe all the queers ought to kill them selves since they sure didn't belong with normal people.

So that's Jensen finds himself at the honky tonk on a Tuesday afternoon, nursing a beer and playing pool with a couple of guys he wouldn't consider friends. He'd rather be anywhere else, but there's nowhere to be. He feels hollow inside like he hasn't slept for days, or maybe he's still asleep and trapped in a nightmare of what could be.

He's got nothing left in his stash at home and he's not holding and getting high sounds like the only way to deal with the way he's feeling. The mellow high of weed isn't what he's looking for though, he wants to not think at all. 'Hey, Wilbur, whadda got that's stronger than pot?'

Wilbur gives him a skeptical once over. Jensen knows it's a strange question coming from him, he's turned down Wilbur any number of times. 'Whadda ya lookinfor?' the drug dealer asks in return.

'I don't know man,' Jensen runs a hand through his hair, tired of the conversation already, it shouldn't feel this hard to score fucking drugs. 'I just wanna get outta my head, get some damn sleep or something, I don't care.'

'Yeah, sure,' Wilbur nods, 'I can do that.' He digs around in his ever present backpack, pulling out a baggie of pills. 'Here man, these'll knock you out so hard you won't remember you cared.'

'Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.' Jensen reaches for the baggie, 'How much?'

'Three bucks a pill,' Wilbur gives him a nasty leer, 'or we could take it out in trade?'

Jensen snorts out a hard laugh, 'Yeah, I don't think so. Gimme four.' 

Wilbur shrugs, unfazed by Jensen's derision. 'Excellent doing business with you sir, you let me know if you need anything else.'

Jensen waves him off, 'Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll let you know.' Draining his beer, he heads out the door, looking forward to finding out exactly how out of his head the little white pills'll get him. If he can go just a few hours without thinking, without thinking about Joe or suicide or how he's got no damn chance or the assholes in this town, well, that'll be worth more than three bucks a pill.

SCK

Steve can hear Christian snoring, sleeping the blissful sleep being safe in the loving arms of his family deserves. He wishes he could fall asleep as easily as his friend, but he's caught tossing and turning, thoughts and feelings, what if and why me rising and falling through his mind like a relentless, angry tide.

It's not the first night he's been unable to fall asleep, his mind a whirling mess, and it won't be the last he figures. With a resigned sense of routine he quietly slips out the door of Christian's room. He's made note of what boards creak and which steps to avoid so he manages a fairly quiet descent down the back stairs and into the kitchen. He's pretty sure Me-maw Sarah heard him sneak out anyhow, but since she came down after him the first night he couldn't sleep, to find out what the matter was, she's let him be.

Sleep has been elusive since they got to the Kane family farm though. He didn't sleep well when they stayed with Mrs. Popple either. In fact, insomnia has been a companion most of his life. The only time he can remember that he really slept well was after meeting Christian, when it was just the two of them on the road. He doesn't know why that's so, but he misses it.

On the positive side, he muses, the not sleeping is adding to his education. Grandmére Marie owns shelves of history books and cook books, sometimes the book is one and the same. Then there's Me-maw Sarah's collection of natural history books, the adventures of Arctic explorers or the men who dared the Amazon. Both women are adamant that education is important and no knowledge is wasted and it's beyond Steve how Christian managed to talk them into letting him quit school like he did.

Tonight, however, he's feeling extra restless and he's unable to lose himself in the book. The moonlight night calls to him. There had been similar nights when he'd been hitchhiking, before meeting Christian, nights when sleep wouldn't come and he'd put miles under his feet, just following the glow of the sky. Here though, he has no destination, no place he's headed too, he's reached the end of the trip; for now anyway. Besides, he's afraid if he did go out walking in the moonlight night he'd get lost in the woods or something equally embarrassing.

Thinking the fresh air might at least help, he slips out the back door to the long dark porch. The Grandmothers both have rocking chairs out here and there's a wide comfortable swing at one end but once he's moving Steve doesn't feel like sitting down. He circles the house a couple of times and wanders between the gardens he and Christian have spent far too much time in lately bringing in the last of the summers bounty. 

The restless wandering brings him to the barn and with a shrug of his shoulders he pushes open the small side door. Aside from the cows scaring the ever loving hell out of him the first day, he's not had any problems with the animals. In fact, he rather likes the cows and is as enthralled of the horses as Christian is. Besides, for all the noise they make, to Steve it feels quiet when he's tending to them.

Light from a dim bulb hanging high at the opposite end of the main aisle keeps the barn from being dark as pitch, and Steve pauses inside the door long enough for his eyes to adjust. He's not been in here at night before and the silence is amazing. It feels comfortable and inviting, as though if he stayed in the quiet he'd be able to fall asleep.

It's not that there's a lack of sound, there's the rustle of the animals shifting in their stalls and the disturbance of his entrance produced a couple of quiet nickers from the horses and lowing from the cows. The quiet feels like an actual, physical thing, even deeper then what he's felt when he's helped tend to the animals. It lightens something inside him in the same way as the day he and Christian walked through the woods to Grandfather's house.

Slowly, letting the peace ease his whirling thoughts, he makes his way to the empty end stall that's used to store the bales of straw for bedding. Grabbing the top blanket from the stack waiting to be put away, he makes his way between the bales to the back of the stall and wedges himself down into a corner. It's surprisingly comfortable, wrapped in the blanket cradled between the bales.

He doesn't know he's fallen asleep until he wakes up. The sound of the barn door opening and the cows and horses greeting whomever has come in shift him to wakefulness.

'I see I'm not the only one who prefers the company of animals.'

Steve flushes with embarrassment at the sight of Grandmére Marie standing in the open doorway of the stall. 'I -I'm so sorry,' he stammers. 'I didn't mean any harm. I . . .' he trails off, at a loss to explain why she's found him asleep in the barn.

'Nothing to fret over boy. You're not the first to be overwhelmed by a new situation and seek out a little piece and quiet and you're sure far from the last. Now get yourself inside fore Christian starts shouting the roof down looking for you.'

He scrambles to his feet, ducking behind his hair, mumbling sorry as he squeezes between the formidable woman and the stall wall. It's chilly outside the warmth of the barn and he holds the blanket tight around his shoulders as he hurries to the house.

She wasn't wrong about Christian shouting the house down. He comes through the kitchen door just as Christian thunders down the back stairs calling out his name. 'Steve! There you are!' Christian shouts in delight, not even giving the blonde time to explain, he drags Steve into the start of the day.

*&*&*&*

To Steve's secret delight, Christian includes him in his incessant complaints about the chores they do. What makes him smile even more, is listening to the old women snarking right back. The warmth and care and family show through with every complaint and threat, he's never been a part of anything like it and it makes him the happiest he can remember being in far too long.

When the last vegetable has finally been picked and the last shovel of earth overturned the boys are left with lazy Indian Summer days to fill. Christian takes the opportunity to teach Steve how to ride. It makes him happy the blonde takes to the horses so well and he loves sharing his joy in the animals with his friend.

'They're soothing,' Steve tries to explain his fascination. 'They don't want anything from me and they're easy to be around.' He doesn't know how to explain the quiet in his mind when it's just the two of them and the horses, not even to himself. But the quiet afternoons spent with Christian showing him the places the brunette grew up are among the best Steve can remember having since his parents died.

After the sun drops below the horizon, they move into the warmth of the kitchen and spend the long fall evenings making music together. Steve's classical violin melding with Christian's bluegrass and country guitar to make something new. 

Some nights Grandmére Marie will ask Steve to play this concerto, or does he know that movement, and the house will hush as he plays out the graceful notes while Grandmére delicately nods in time, eyes closed, transported some-when else by the sounds. Other nights Jenny will beg them for something she can dance to and the kitchen turns into an impromptu dance hall as they all take turns twirling each other around to the rollicking music.

The idyll, unfortunately, lasts only a week. On a Thursday morning after Grandmére Marie chases Jenny out of the kitchen to catch her bus, both she and Me-maw Sarah fix the boys with a serious look.

'I don't know what Jenny said, but I did not threaten her dolls.' Christian immediately blurts out under the scrutiny.

Steve can't help but snicker at his friend. He'd never admit it out loud, but the looks those old ladies lay on them make him want to admit to every misdeed he's ever even thought of committing. He manages to choke back a full laugh when both Grandmére and Me-maw lower their brows at the brunette's confession. Me-maw scolds, 'What have I told you about teasing your sister? Especially now that there's two of you to gang up on her.'

Christian wilts like week old lettuce under the combined might of their disapproval. 'I'm sorry ma'am, it won't happen again. Besides,' he perks up, 'I don't have reinforcements, Steve's on her side. He said I shouldn't give her grief over them dolls.'

Grandmére Marie nods, 'That's because Steve's a good boy.'

Steve flushes at the compliment. No one has ever called him a good boy with that kind of sincerity before. It makes him want to live up to her expectations.

'Now then,' Me-maw Sarah picks up, 'I know you boys have no intention of going back to school.'

'More's the pity,' Grandmére frowns.

'With the garden and the haying done for the year, there's nothing left for you boys to do but take care of the stock and that don't take up near enough time to keep the two of you out of trouble . . .'

That's how Steve finds himself helping customers and giving music lessons at Gladstones Music Emporium four days a week. He's better off than Christian he thinks, stuck at the feed store helping Mr. Oldstrom fill orders, take inventory and clean out the back room, a room that no one's seen the back of since Abraham Lincoln was president.

*&*&*&*

It starts so gradually Steve doesn't notice anything is wrong till the afternoon Mary Jane shakes him and he comes to himself standing in the middle of the back room. 'Steve! Are you okay? I've been calling for you forever! Didn't you hear me? Are you okay?'

Rubbing his face, trying to get his mind working again, he can feel her concern like a warm blanket trying to wrap around his mind. 'I'm fine,' he mumbles, 'it's nothing.'

'Nothing,' she snorts, 'you've been back here nearly half an hour and then you don't answer when I call your name, just standing there like a statue! That is not nothing.'

'It really is nothing,' he tries to reassure her, 'I don't sleep so good, and sometimes I'm a lot more tired than I think, is all.'

Mary Jane gives him a long hard look and he tries not to squirm under her regard. He really likes her and doesn't want to worry her so he tries out the puppy eyes he's seen Christian use on her and is relieved when they seem to work.

'Fine,' she huffs. 'But you need to get more sleep honey. It's not healthy, a growing boy like you practically sleeping on your feet,' she shakes her head.

'I know, Mary Jane, I'm sorry. Me-maw Sarah's been trying to get me to drink some foul smelling tea that's supposed to help . . .' he shrugs helplessly.

'Well, then, you drink it mister! Me-maw knows what she's talking about.'

'Yes, ma'am,' he grins a little at her, 'it is awful stinky though.'

'Oh, you!' Mary Jane slaps him on the shoulder with a laugh. 'C'mon, if we get the front cleaned up we'll close up early and you can go lord getting off work early over Christian.' 

It's only a week later that he wakes up sitting in the barn to find Christian watching him, a combination of sadness and fear on the brunette's face.

'Are you okay?' Christian asks softly.

'Yeah,' Steve answers a little bewildered. He's not sure what's going on, he's never seen his friend look like this before, and his brain is still a little muddled from waking up.

'I've been sitting here nearly two hours, Steve. You've been sitting there with your eyes open, looking at nothing and you wouldn't answer me when I called your name or anything! Please,' Christian pleads, 'what's going on?'

The raw fear in Christian's voice and surrounding them like a heavy blanket feeds his own panic and Steve can feel his heart start to pound and he can't control his breathing and he feels like he'll fly apart at the slightest touch. 'I don't know,' he whispers around wheezing breaths. 'I can feel you. Oh God, Christian . . .' 

'You can feel me?' Christian drops his voice to a soft and soothing tone, like he would for an injured or scared animal. 'I didn't know that.'

'I always know where you are,' Steve pants, breathing erratic. 'I didn't know that before. Grandfather said I'd centered on you. I thought it was just the music. I didn't want to believe this crazy thing in me was touching you. It's not right.'

'Steve, hey, Steve, you're scaring me.' He's at a loss as to what to do to comfort his friend. Since the day they met he's known his friend has a touch of something special, but it sounds like Steve has never believed it himself.

Christian reaches out to Steve, touch being the only way he knows to comfort someone in such distress, however, the blonde doesn't seem to notice, face buried in the space between his drawn up knees and his chest. 'Hey, Stevie, c'mon, look at me,' he cajoles gently, 'it's not so bad.'

Steve slowly raises is eyes from where he's hidden his face, when his eyes meet Christian's it's like the snap of an electrical circuit. 'Steve!' Christian gasps as a wave of fear and confusion literally knock him back on his ass.

The wave stops as suddenly as it started, Steve staring wide-eyed and breathing hard. 'Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry.'

Seeing Steve's panic, Christian pushes aside his own surprise and fear to comfort him. 'No, hey, it's okay. I think you're projecting is all, like that day at Father Morgan's. 'Cept instead of throwing knickknacks around you're tossing emotion.'

'How are you not freaking out? This isn't normal! I'm not normal! It's not right!' Steve rants, getting louder and louder until he's yelling.

'Shit, course I'm freaking out,' Christian keeps his voice down through sheer effort of will and forces out a grin. 'You just flattened me and you never laid a hand on me. But I figure only one of us can freak out at a time.'

Steve laughs weakly as Christian intended.

'We can figure out what's going on, the two of us, together,' Christian continues, more relaxed now that the tension is broken. 'I've never felt this kind of connection with anyone like with you Steve, musically, as a friend, all of it.'

'What if it's just this thing that's inside me making you feel that way? Grandfather said it'd reached out to you.' Steve's panic starts to rise again, words falling faster and faster from his lips 'What if that's all this is? What if you don't really like me? What if I'm doing it and don't even know it?'

Christian scootches closer to the blonde, grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him a little to get his attention, 'I don't think that's what happened. I kinda liked you before those guys jumped you in the alley and it's only grown as I've gotten to know you. It's not an all of a sudden thing, so I'm pretty sure it's all me.'

Taking a deep breath, knowing it's probably a bad idea considering the timing, Christian leans in and kisses Steve soundly. He can't think of any other way to take the doubt and fear out of his friends voice, to prove to Steve it's all him wanting the blonde, and not anything Steve's power may have done.

Steve makes a soft, shocked sound as Christian pulls back.

Christian's not comfortable talking about his feelings, but he figures he'd better do it at least this once if he wants to reassure Steve that the power the blonde has has nothing to do with the relationship the two of them have. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he looks his friend straight in the eye, laying out all his feelings where he hopes the blonde can see them, if not feel them. 'I wanted to give you a place to call home back in Richardson, and that's not what you wanted so I'm thinking what lives inside you don't have anything to do with how I feel bout you.'

Steve closes his eyes for a long moment and Christian thinks maybe he didn't get through to his friend. He's trying to think what else he could say or do to convince him when Steve opens his eyes and gives him a long searching look. He does his best not to flinch under the blonde's regard, but he'd swear Steve was looking straight into his soul and it was a mite uncomfortable.

Nodding slowly, Steve whispers, 'Okay.'

JA

Downers turn out to be exactly what Jensen was looking for. The feeling of soft lassitude and being able to sleep without the nightmares are more than worth the three bucks a pill. The only problem is he still has to get up every morning to go to school and fighting through the cotton-wool the pills leave thick in his brain is more effort than he's got the will for.

A quick conversation with Wilbur the next weekend takes care of that and now Jensen has a little baggie of yellow pills to take in the morning to get him going. A couple of joints over lunch with Marcus and his crew get him through the afternoon and at home after dinner he knocks back a little white pill with a bit of whiskey and he's done for the day.

His momma is forever asking him how he's doing and when he shrugs and tells her he's fine she looks so sad and concerned it makes him want to either cry or scream. He starts to avoid her as much as possible, begging off dinner by telling her he grabbed a bite after school or that he's got too much homework, he'll be up in his room all night.

He does feel bad for lying to her, but it's easier than being the focus of her attention. As for his step-daddy, as long as he's 'yes, sir' and 'no ma'am' with no sass and doesn't embarrass the family on Sundays Alan Ackles looks right past him.

Wednesday at the high school is a half day in preparation for the long Thanksgiving weekend and he misses Marcus at the school, if the hippie had even been there. He was hopping he wouldn't have to try to sneak out of a house full of relatives Friday night so he could score. Hell, he wasn't even sure Wilbur would be at the bar it being a holiday and all. Maybe if he was careful he'd be able to stretch what he had left till Monday.

'Jensen,' his momma catches him at the bottom of the stairs, 'the school called again today. They say you're in danger of failing out of several of your classes.'

'They're just over-reacting momma,' he dismisses, mind on counting out how many pills he has left. 'The teachers are really hard on the seniors is all. I'll get my grades up, it's nothing to worry about.'

'That's not all, sweetie.' Her words stop him before he can continue up the stairs.

Jensen feels a frisson of unease as he watches her take a deep breath and shake her head as though she's steeling herself to do something unpleasant.

'I've been so worried about you honey. You haven't been yourself since that horrible business with Joe Archer. I know you two used to be close. . .' she trails off and his unease turns to a sinking feeling.

'Don't be angry Jenny baby,' she continues, 'but I looked through your room, trying to find some clue to what's been going on with you and I found this.' His momma holds out an old cigar box and panic wells up from his gut making him nauseous. It's his stash.

'I-it's not mine momma,' he stutters out, saying the first thing he can think of. 'A-a fr-friend at school is having a-a bad time so I took it a-away from him.'

He can see how much she wants to believe him and he gives her the pleading look that's gotten him out of trouble since he was little. Of course his step-daddy has impeccable timing and walks in the front door just as his momma flips open the top of the box, revealing the paraphernalia of Jensen's habit.

'What the heck is that?' shock and surprise color the preachers voice.

'It's not mine. I took it from a friend at school.' Jensen can't help the angry, defensive tone of his voice.

'Why in the Good Lords name would you bring drugs into this house?' Alan demands angrily.

Jensen clamps his mouth shut tight, he has no ready lie. All his life the one thing his step-daddy has been death on is drugs of any sort, be it alcohol, tobacco or illegal substances and deep down he knows there's nothing he can say to make this come out right.

'Jensen,' the older Ackles takes a good long, hard look at his son. Jensen squirms under his step-daddy's regard. He knows he's not looking his best, that he's dropped weight and there are dark circles under his eyes. Alan Ackles is not a stupid man and his experiences in ministry will ensure he'll recognize what's staring him in the face. Jensen's been avoiding the man for just that very reason.

'You're using drugs.' It's not a question, only a flat statement of fact.

'No!' Automatic denial jumps to Jensen's lips. He can't help but look over at his momma and the box she still holds in her hands though.

'Don't you lie to me son. I know what I'm seeing and what I'm seeing looks an awful lot like a junkie.'

Donna gasps at her husbands words, 'Alan . . .'

'I am not goddamn junkie,' Jensen grits his teeth. If he can just get outta here it'll be fine. So what if he loses his stash, there's really not much left anyway, he can't help another look at the box his momma has set on the hall table, he's got money put away, he can replace it, hide it better.

'I won't have you taking the Lords name in vain in this house! You apologize to your momma this instant.' Alan demands.

His momma reaches out to him, a look of understanding dawning on her face. 'Honey, if this is because of what happened with Joe, you can talk to us.'

He has no desire to talk to his parents about anything, especially not Joe Archer and the ugly rumors that have now spread all over town. Rumors that link Jensen's name to Joe's and snidely imply that maybe Joe wasn't the only cocksucker in school.

'Joesph Archer?' his step-daddy questions, momentarily derailed. 'There's been some terrible things said about that poor boy. True or not it's a tragedy. You were friends with him in grade school weren't you Jensen?'

Just wanting to escape the conversation he nods, slowly edging up the stairs. He can hear sympathy in his step-daddy's voice and the idea is born that maybe he can convince them the box is a one off, born of grief and confusion.

Alan sighs deep, 'It pains me to say it, but maybe it's for the best that you don't remind anyone of that.'

Jensen jerks as though slapped, 'What do you mean by that?'

'Rumors have a way of sticking to a person, even if they're not true. 'Alan sighs again, wearily rubbing at his face, 'I'm certain the obvious lies about you will disappear as some new gossip grabs for attention.'

'The obvious lies about me?' Jensen asks.

'Don't try to tell me you haven't heard the horrid things being said about the poor Archer boy. His family will never live it down I'm sure. And you,' his step-daddy points at him, 'the things I've heard about you. It's like this terrible tragedy has set neighbor against friend insinuating unnatural acts.'

'Unnatural acts,' Jensen can only dumbly repeat his step-daddy's words. His head is spinning and a desperate urge to run is welling up. 

'As a man of God and a leader in this community there are standards my family are expected to live up too and these rumors are damaging to that. I'd appreciate if you would do your best to distance yourself from this mess Jensen,' Alan continues in a voice that brooks no argument.

'All that matters to you is your precious reputation.' Jensen explodes, anger coming out of nowhere and stealing his reason. 'You don't give a damn except when it might make you look bad in front of the old biddies at the church.'

'Jensen Ross Ackles,' his momma's stern voice snaps, 'you watch your tone. Your father is right, we do have a reputation to maintain and you will behave in a manner befitting our position in the community.'

'Yeah, well hows that reputation gonna look when everybody finds out you've got a junkie fagot for a son!' He shouts in defiance and it doesn't feel as good as he thought it would to see the color drain from his step-daddy's face. The pained gasp from his momma tears him to the bone.

'You will not speak like that in this house!' Alan thunders. 'I will not tolerate such behavior!'

'You won't tolerate?' Jensen sneers. 'Fine, you don't need to tolerate me. I'm outta here.'

'Jensen, honey,' he hears his momma call after him as he jogs up the stairs.

'Let him go Donna,' he hears his step-daddy say, 'let him calm down and come to his senses and he'll apologize.'

Apologize? Jensen seethes. He's got nothing to fucking apologize for. All he did was tell them the truth. If they don't like it then the hell with them. He shifts through his belongings angrily, dumping his school books out of his bag, stuffing a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts in their place. 

Reaching behind his dresser he's relived to find another cigar box. If he'd hidden his drugs as well as he'd hidden his money he wouldn't be having this problem. Hell, he thinks angrily, if his momma hadn't decided to get all nosy and left him well enough alone everything would be fine.

He is surprised at how little is left of the money he's been saving. Surely he hasn't been spending that much on drugs? He shrugs off the thought, money's easy enough to come by so it don't really matter.

Money in wallet and clothes in bag he slams out of his room and down the stairs.

'Where do you think you're going young man?' his step daddy demands at the same time his momma asks, 'Jensen, honey, what are you doing?'

Grabbing his stash box from the hall table he gives his step-daddy a nasty sneer, 'I told you, I'm outta here. You don't have to worry bout me hurting your damn reputation.'

'Jensen . . .' There are tears on his momma face and it hurts Jensen more than he thought to know he caused it, but there's no way he's staying here one more minute.

'If you walk out that door don't expect to come back.'

'Wasn't planning on it.' The front door slams with window rattling finality, anger fueling his determined stride down the street. Wilbur should be at the bar by now.

*&*&*&*

Two weeks after leaving his parents house -he didn't run away thank you very much- Jensen's holding down his usual table in the honky tonk. It's early yet and he's nursing a pot buzz that he's got no more weed to maintain, slowly working through a beer to prolong it.

His eyes are drawn to every swing of the door out of newly developed habit, the rumors haven't left him alone and there's been more than one asshole who's given Jensen a piece of his mind or his fist. He's sure he's hallucinating when he sees who he'd swear was Mrs. Popple, the organist from his step-daddy's church, come through the door. Why would Mrs. Popple be in a sleazy honky tonk on the wrong side of town in the middle of the week?

The weed beer combination must be stronger than he thinks cos he's certainly hallucinating when he watches the woman scan the room before moving in his direction. As she gets closer it becomes clear even to his drug addled brain it really is Maggie Popple.

'You're a difficult young man to track down Jensen Ackles,' she sits across the table from him with a warm smile.

'My daddy send you after his wastrel fagot son?' he sneers with contempt, he's got no reason to be polite, it sure ain't gotten him nowhere lately.

'No,' she replies sharply in response to his tone. Gentling her voice she continues, 'He's wrong you know.'

'Is he now,' Jensen scoffs. 'Well, I do like cock an awful lot and weed and pills to boot so I'd say he's not too far off the mark.'

'That's not all there is to you and you know it,' she argues back. 'You are what you make of yourself no matter what other people may think. It's God's will.'

'The only other queer this town has ever known killed himself and I'm sure there's them that think I ought to follow in Joe's footsteps. God surely has a twisted damn sense of humor.' He toasts her with the remains of his beer, draining it with a sad grimace, the things he's gonna have to do to get more money aren't sitting well with him.

'I've known you all your life child,' she continues in that gentle tone. 'There's not a thing wrong with the way God made you. Now, I don't know about you, but I could use some dinner, come along,' she stands, holding out her hand to him.

'Where?' Jensen is bewildered by her kindness and her refusal to fight with him.

'Why, back to my house of course. I've a pot of soup on that should do just the trick.' She gestures for him to take her hand and after a moment he does. 

There's nothing holding him to the honky tonk and hot food is the best thing he's heard in some time. Truth be told he is a little heart sick of the hustling lifestyle and stopping, even for one night, is a lure he can't resist. 'Sure, he tells her with a nonchalant shrug trying to cover how choked up he is over her easy acceptance of him and her refusal to paint him with the same brush the rest of the town has, 'I could eat.'

Not only does she feed him the aforementioned soup, she lets him stay in her spare room. He's been sleeping on couches, bouncing between a couple of guys who don't care who the hell is his as long as he shares his drugs or himself for the two weeks since he left home and the room is almost more welcome than the food.

That is until he realizes it can only be the room Christian and Steve shared when they were here over the summer. He stands for a long minuet between the two beds, memories of the two drifters heavy on his mind. 

When morning rolls around, after a night of tossing and turning and nightmares, he's jonesing for a hit of anything to take the edge off reality. Carefully he makes his way downstairs, aiming to make his escape, trying to come up with who outta the guys he knows might be holding and not only awake, but willing to make a trade.

'Oh, good, you're up.' Mrs. Popple's voice surprises a yelp out of him, rocketing him out of his preoccupation and bringing the smell of coffee and ham.

'Come on then, have some breakfast before you leave.'

Meals haven't been so regular lately that he's gonna turn down free food. Especially not ham, eggs and coffee. Besides, it'll kill time till he can score.

They get settled at the table with plates and Mrs. Popple gives Jensen a long searching look over the rim of her coffee cup. 'I know you and your daddy don't see eye to eye on any number of things,' she ignores Jensen's snort of amusement at that understatement, 'but that's no reason to go getting mixed up in trouble.'

He's never been particularly close to Mrs. Popple, so he can't figure out why she cares. She's played organ at the church for as long as he can remember and she gave Mackenzie piano lessons until his sister discovered tennis and that's the extent of their relationship.

'Like I said, I've known you all your life and I'd hazard I know a fair bit about children. I've known since you were a bitty thing on your momma's hip you weren't cut out for a backwards town like Richardson. You stay here and you will end up like that poor Archer boy. No,' she shakes her head, taking a sip of her coffee, 'you surely don't belong here.'

Jensen's laugh is bitter, 'There's no place else to go. I'm not going to get magically whisked away to some place else.'

Tone as sharp as her gaze, she admonishes him, 'That attitude certainly won't get you out of Richardson. I'm offering you a way out boy, I know what it's like to be stifled by this town. Christian and Stevie helped me and one good turn deserves another. Besides, I bet those boys might have a thing or two to do with where your head is at,' she gives him a knowing look that makes him flush with embarrassment through his surprise.

'Now, finish your breakfast and I'll take you to the bus station.'

Jensen can only look at her in disbelief. It don't make any sense, why would she help him like this? And all because a couple of drifters did her a good turn? He doesn't feel like he deserves the sort of kindness she's offering him.

Shame overtaking the embarrassment and surprise he looks down at his plate, studying the breakfast he's only managed a couple of bites of, another kindness he's not sure he deserves. It only takes him a minuet or two thinking about her words to realize she's right, there's nothing for him in Richardson except crawling back to his step-daddy or ending up dead -either by his own hand or some redneck ass-wipe worried they'll catch queer from him.

'Why?' he asks, hating the plaintive sound of his voice. It's been two weeks since he walked out of his parents house and no one has come looking for him, not even his momma, who said she'd love him no matter what. Why should this virtual stranger care?

'Because, Jensen honey,' her voice is warm as she reaches out to pat his hand, 'I can and I want to and you deserve it. Now finish up and you can blow this popsicle stand,' she grins.

Mrs. Popple has certainly done her homework and they arrive at the Greyhound station minuets before the bus to Oklahoma City is set to leave. 'I hope I thought right that you'd want to get out of Texas. Oklahoma City is the furthest I can get you dear.'

'It's fine,' he tells her, still overwhelmed by her generosity. 'Oklahoma City's as good as any place.'

'Here,' she presses an envelop into his hands, 'it's not much, but it should get you a room and a meal or two.'

'Thank you,' he chokes out squeezing her hands in gratitude, the withdrawal headache and the emotional turmoil of the morning has tears shining in his eyes and he's at a loss as to what else he could possibly say or do.

'Now then,' Mrs. Popple says briskly, 'you be careful in the big city. I know you're a good boy underneath the trouble you've had lately, so use your head. Understand?'

'Yes ma'am,' he manages a small watery smile for her. 'Could you tell my momma I'm doing alright?'

'Of course,' she swoops in for a hug and Jensen finds himself returning the hug just as tight, almost afraid to let go. The announcement for the boarding of the bus breaks them apart and with a final smile between them Jensen shoulders his back pack and hurries out. He doesn't look back.

Five hours later, Jensen is heartily sick of the bus and craving a hit of something so bad he's nearly shaking with it. Fortunately, he's pretty sure there's never been a Greyhound station in a decent part of town and Oklahoma City is no exception. Just for a moment, he thinks about doing the right thing with the money Mrs. Popple gave him, but the need to get high overrides his good sense. Besides, money's easy enough to come by.

He may be new to Oklahoma City, but he knows what a hustler looks like and he approaches a group of three down the block from the bus depot.

'Hey man, you know where a guy can score around here?' he asks.

All three give him the stink eye up and down, 'You a cop?'

Jensen snorts, 'I look like a cop? I just got off the bus man, looking for a little pick me up, ya know?'

The taller of the three elbows the one who spoke in the ribs, 'He don't look old enough to be a cop you dumb-ass. Hector's Bar's bout five blocks down,' he points. 'You oughtta be able to find somebody there.'

'Thanks man,' Jensen shoots them a quick smile, mind already on scoring, 'you're a life saver.'

SCK

Hesitantly, Steve's voice comes out of the dark, 'You ever think about Jensen?'

'Yeah, sometimes,' Christian replies. 'He's pretty messed up.'

Christian can hear the shift slide that means Steve's nodded his agreement. 'I had a dream about him, or anyway he was there . . . ' Steve trails off. There's a long beat of silence before the blonde continues in a whisper, 'It was so cold and dark, just horrible.'

Unease prickles through the dark room, making the small hairs on the back of Christian's neck stand on end. The sudden sound of Steve shifting in his blankets snaps the growing sense of disquiet and impending violence.

With a jolt, Christian realizes Steve must be projecting unawares, and goosebumps pebble his arms and face. He's ashamed to admit it, but the feel in the air is actually making him afraid of Steve, of his power. He clamps down on the thought as hard as he can, unwilling to let his friend feel it and maybe make things worse.

'I had a vision of Jensen, I think,' he offers. He hadn't planned on mentioning it because, really, his visions were so rare and this one had come more as a flight of fancy as he'd been working, letting his mind wander, than as anything solid. Steve's dream put him in mind of it and he desperately wanted to break the tension in the air. 'Jensen was sitting on the side of the road in the snow, blue and frosted from the cold. The weird part was you and me were standing in the middle of the road and it was sunny and warm.'

The tension in the air dissipates as he speaks and he breathes out a sigh of relief. He hears Steve hum and shift again. 'I thought about asking him to come with us when we left,' Christian continues. 'He seemed so lost and unhappy, I really wanted to help him.'

'Me too,' Steve admits. 'I kinda felt a connection with him too. I figured it was just one messed up, unhappy teen connecting to another, but what if it was this power I've got? What if it recognized something in him?'

'I don't know man,' Christian shifts around, uncomfortable with the thought for some reason, 'could be. Something to think about anyway.'

JA

The money Mrs. Popple had given him only lasted a couple of days. It covered a night at the Y and enough weed and pills to get him through the day, life was more expensive in the city than it had been in Richardson.

Making money was no problem though, he had skills. The thought of those skills always brought a snicker to his lips. He's pretty sure his step-daddy wasn't talking about hustling pool or sucking cock when the man droned on about learning the skills that would see him through life.

Hustling pool was what he was working on now. A big guy who looked slow and dumb, but dressed well enough to mean money, had been giving him the eye all night. Jensen took the blatant once over as an invitation and played up the naive yet cocky angle to get the guy at a table with him. Turned out the guy wasn't so drunk he didn't take offense at being played.

'You little bastard, what the fuck do you think you're doing? Trying to hustle me?'

'Hey man,' Jensen backs up, hands raised, trying to placate the big guy, 'just cos I got lucky ain't no reason to think I'm cheating you.'

'Lucky? Is that what you call sizing me up from the second you walked in the door. I look like an easy mark boy?' the man's voice drops to a menacing growl. 'I ain't no fool boy, I know what you are, ya little cocksucker.'

Jensen takes another step back at the change in the man's voice. Faster than Jensen would have thought a man his size can move the guy has a bruising grip on his arm. Twisting it up behind Jensen's back puts the teen on his tip toes leaning against the man's bulk to keep his balance.

Frantically Jensen scans the crowd of patrons, looking for help but all he sees is blank faces and turned backs.

The big man laughs an ugly laugh, 'This here is my bar, boy. Ain't no one gonna help a little punk-ass queer like you.'

Roughly, the big man frisks Jensen, easily holding the struggling teen captive. A meaty fist pulls out the cash Jensen had pocketed as his winnings. 'I'll be taking this back. Maybe I should beat the cheating out of you,' he sneers, giving Jensen a mean shake that rattles the teens teeth.

Starting to get scared Jensen twists in the big man's grip. 'Jesus, let me the fuck go!' All his struggles do is earn him a sharp pull on his arm that sends pain shooting across his back like the big man is trying to rip his arm off at the shoulder. Grunting in pain, he pushes forward trying to take pressure off his shoulder. 'C'mon man, just take the cash, I'll get the hell outta your bar and you won't ever have to see me again,' he pleads.

He knows he looks and sounds desperate, but fuck, it hurts and this guy is scaring the crap out of him. He relies on bluster and bluff to get out of trouble, he knows he has no skills to back up his mouth.

Getting nowhere with his struggles, he lets his body go slack and pliant, trying another tactic, 'Hey, c'mon, let me make it up to you.'

Eyes narrowing the guy gives him a considering look, lingering on Jensen's lips.

Knowing where his strengths lay Jensen licks his lips, biting gently on the bottom one, looking up at the man through his eyelashes, he knows he looks like the worst kind of jail bait.

'Ya know, that's not a half bad idea.'

Keeping Jensen's arm twisted high on his back the man pushes Jensen out the back door into a filthy alley. Shoving him to his knees, he knocks the teen over with a hard back-hand that leaves Jensen's head ringing and nose bloody.

Threading one hand tight into Jensen's hair the man drags him back up, opening his belt and flies with the other. Jensen can see the man's already half hard. 'Make it good ya little pussy and maybe I'll forget I ever saw your cheating face in my bar.'

Jensen knows how to suck dick, but the guy doesn't give him a chance to catch his breath before he's shoving his dick down Jensen's throat, gagging him. He can't breath, and snot and tears stream down his face as the man fucks into his throat for what feels like forever. Finally the man pulls out, only to shoot his load all over Jensen's face and chest.

'Don't let me catch you near my bar again you fucking pussy.' With another back-hand that knocks Jensen's head against the alley wall the guy leaves him dazed on the ground, black eye, bloody nose and split lip, cum covering his face and hair, dripping down his shirt.

'Oh, sugar,' a voice startles him, blearily he looks up and sees a girl standing over him. He's seen the girl, he thinks she works the bar, but he doesn't know her name. 'C'mon, let's get you cleaned up.'

'M fine,' he mumbles, wiping ineffectually at the mess of blood, cum and snot on his chin.

'Uh-huh,' she agrees with him, 'LeRoy sure did number on you, let me help sugar.'

Even on a good day, Jensen doesn't have it in him to be rude a woman, and this is far from a good day. He lets her help him to his feet, but resists when it looks like she's trying to steer him back into the bar.

'Don't worry honey, we're not going any place LeRoy's gonna catch sight of you,' the girl reassures him and he relents, letting her lead him back into the building.

They end up in a tiny bathroom off the back hall of the bar and the blank feeling fades as the girl cleans the mess off his face. Slowly coming back to himself he takes in his surroundings; a filthy bathroom with stained porcelain and a cracked mirror that shows a girl he's never met before and a stranger wearing his bruised face.

In a flash he can see where this life is heading and it's no where he planned to go. He was Jensen Ackles damnit, a preachers son sure, not a damn beaten-down junkie hustler. He has plans that don't include cleaning cum and blood off his face in a filthy bathroom. 

He was gonna get out of the fucking small minded hick town he grew up in and make something of himself and that wasn't gonna happen in a dirty alley behind a sleazy bar. He had to get out of here.

'D-do you think you could grab my bag for me?' he rasps out, throat raw and sore. 'I-it's by the p-pool tables.' He hopes she will, he doesn't want to lose the little belongings he's got left. 

'Yeah, you'd better stay outta LeRoy's sight for a while.' She pats him on the shoulder with a soft hand and a sad look. 'Meet me round front, okay?'

At his nod, she shows him back out the dark narrow hall to the alley before disappearing toward the sound of the jukebox.

Not only does she bring him his bag, but a bottle of Coke too. 'Th-thanks,' he stutters out.

'You get someplace safe to sleep it off,' she tells him. 'I'll see ya round,' she calls heading back into the bar.

Slinging his bag on his shoulder he turns in a circle, taking in the buildings and streets. It's a sad part of town with, worn garland and tacky lights in the dingy windows the only indication it's a measly week till Christmas. He has no idea where he's gonna go, but he sure as shit ain't staying here. Catching sight of his reflection in a shop window he winces, he looks as bad as he feels.

He closes his eyes, breathing deep, he knows what he wants, even if he'd rather not admit it to himself. He wants to find Christian and Steve. He wants what they have, freedom and a partner. They're some place in Oklahoma he knows. He wants to ask them what they did to him that he stopped being happy with his life. He blames them a little for shit falling apart and he wants to tell them that. Maybe they can tell him how to put it back together again.

Turning his back to the setting sun, he starts walking.


End file.
